A Reversal of Fortune
by Mindy Simmons
Summary: What if Maude Flanders had not died that fateful day at Springfield Speedway? A change in plans leads to disaster for the Simpson family, and causes Ned to question the meaning of life.
1. Chapter 1

A Reversal of Fortune

The alarm clock rang at 8:30 on the dot. It was an old-fashioned bell alarm, not one of those digital clocks with their shrill, unpleasant buzzing. _**That's no way to start a day**_. Ned and Maude Flanders greeted each other with an affectionate peck on the lips before rising from their king sized bed, linens still neatly tucked around them from the night before. Maude pulled back the curtains and the room filled with sunlight. She opened their bedroom window and was greeted by the pleasant chirping of birds. Evergreen Terrace was unusually quiet, even for an early Saturday morning.

_**Enjoy it while it lasts**_, Ned thought to himself. _**Won't be to long before those darn Jehovah's Witnesses come a-knocking. Bless their damningly misguided hearts**__._

Ned went down to the living room and put on the family's favorite CD. He sang along with Jim Nabors' booming baritone as he minced happily to his sons' bedroom to wake them up.

The family ate breakfast in the kitchen as they decided how to spend the day. Ned offered an unexpected suggestion.

"I figured we could go down to the new race track today."

Rod and Todd gasped. "You mean the one with all the bright flags?"

"Where they give you soda-water at the end of the race?"

"The very one!" Ned happily confirmed.

The boys jumped with excitement and quickly finished their food.

The family then got dressed and headed outside, where they were greeted by an empty driveway.

"That'd odd. Where the heck's the car?"

Out of habit, Ned peered over at his next-door neighbor's property. _**No tire tracks, or auto parts strewn about. Well, I suppose Homer doesn't have it.**_ The Simpsons were good people, he convinced himself daily, but they had a funny habit of borrowing very generously from him, sometimes at the most inopportune times.

The family continued to stare, confused, at the empty space in front of their garage.

"Maude? We didn't donate our car to the Salvation Army, did we?"

"No, honey. They're only supposed to be picking up the linens and the used jigsaw puzzles."

Ned scratched his head as he assessed the situation. "Oh, dear. Looks like we've got ourselves a Subaru snatcher."

_**But how?**_ Ned mentally retraced his steps from the previous day. That evening, he had parked, but continued to fill out inventory paperwork for the Leftorium as he sat in the car. He finally grabbed the paperwork, some order forms, three boxes of "left is the new right" t shirts, a bag of groceries, his driving Bible, and his lunch bag and slowly made his way to the house after slamming his car door shut. After watching through the window as her husband struggled, Maude opened the front door for him.

It suddenly dawned on him_**. I left the keys in the ignition. And the door was unlocked! How could I have been so**_- Maude interrupted his train of thought.

"I'm worried, Neddy. First someone takes the coupon booklet out of our Sunday newspaper, and now this. Pretty soon this neighborhood will be overrun with hoodlums!"

Ned remained optimistic. "Now, lets not be too quick to judge. Maybe some unfortunate needed it to, oh, get to work so he could feed his family. Or he might have had to drive his pet to the vet."

"Maybe a good Samaritan decided to wash it for us," Rod offered.

"Yeah. Maybe." Ned shuffled his foot against the gravel.

A few moments passed in silence. Ned had enjoyed his morning too much to have it ruined. He felt compelled to hold on to the moment, no matter what happened.

"Oh, what the hey? It's a beautiful day out. Lets not let a little grand theft auto lead to a grand theft weekend. Whaddaya say we take a nice nature walk?"

Maude agreed. "I'll go get our hiking sticks."

"Ooh! Can we finally use the bug repellent?" Todd asked hopefully.

"Well, the warning did say possible eye irritant…but, why not? I think you boys are old enough to handle it."

"Yay!" the boys cheered.

...

The Flanderses made their way through Springfield's Nature Preserve, where the late morning calm was cut by a familiar set of voices. They soon found the Simpsons, who were making their way down the same trail. Ned offered them a cheery greeting.

"Why if it isn't our fellow nature-loving neigborinos! Lovely day to be out, isn't it?"

Homer, with his back towards them, jerked at the sound of Ned's voice as if he had been struck with an invisible whip. "D'oh! Another Saturday ruined."

Ned bit his lip, brushing off the outburst. _**Well, you should know**_.

Homer spun around and eyed the Flanderses, and then glanced at Marge, who had cleared her throat and was glaring back at him. "I mean, um, hello Flandereses. We were just in the middle of our nature hike, when we found something truly awe-inspiring…a race track!" He pointed toward the bottom of the hill where activity buzzed around a large stadium. "I think we're gonna head down there. This'll be a million times more fun than some boring walk. Right kids?"

"Yeah!" Bart shouted, high-fiving his father.

"Hardly." Lisa crossed her arms in frustration. "I can't believe that the city has destroyed a whole section of the Nature Preserve just to build some stupid car track."

"Stupid? Honey, rubbernecking is the great American pastime," Homer reassured her. "That's what racing is all about! Besides, Mother Nature wouldn't have put all these trees here if she didn't want us to cut 'em down and turn them into something awesome. Right?"

Lisa was not convinced.

Ned smiled. "Well what a coinky-dink! You know, before this morning's unscheduled change of plans, I was thinking about taking a trip down to the track. I had no idea that the good people down at city hall decided to make such easy access to it."

"Oh, what happened this morning, Ned?" Marge was the only Simpson that seemed interested.

"Someone borrowed our car…without asking."

Homer snickered loudly before covering his mouth to contain his apparent glee. "Sorry to hear that, Flanders. You should probably go keep an eye on that." He choked down the last of his giggles.

Ned fought the urge to roll his eyes, and turned his attention back to the stadium.

"You actually like racing?" Bart inquired, before striking a squirrel with a small pebble he had found.

"Yes indeedy. Not so much for the speed, but for all that great safety gear! Say, as long as you're headed that way, what do you say we make a day of it? We can sit together, take in the sun's beautiful rays, and discuss the finer details of the latest prices for imported metal! You know, they make those cars in Puerto Rico to cut down on-"

Ned caught Homer frowning at the suggestion as he grabbed his daughter's hand and started walking.

"Oh, uh…_Gee_, Lisa, I think you're right. I _don't_ approve of this raceway idea. We should both boycott it, starting right _now_! Come on, let's go…"

Ned continued to extend his invitation. "Are you sure? I'll even pay for your tickets."

Homer stopped in his tracks. "Oh,_ I_ get it. You think we can't afford get in on our own! Well, for your information, we don't need your charity! I was just headed for the ticket booth before I was so _rudely_ interrupted."

"But dad, what about your plan to sneak onto the roof of one of the cars, then roll off once it enters the track, and go sit in the front ro-" Homer yanked Bart by the collar and pulled him along.

"Shut up, boy." Homer turned his attention back to Ned. "No, thanks, Mr. _Trump_, we 'poor' people have better things to do on a Saturday than sit with a bunch of high class, caviar-eating, NASCAR snobs."

"Well, suit yourselves." Ned was secretly relieved that he would be able to spend a pleasant day with his own family.

"Thanks for the offer, Ned." Marge smiled politely. "Maybe next weekend." She looked for the rest of her family as they disappeared beyond the trees. "Bye, guys!"

"See ya later, Simpsons!"

The Flanderses bid farewell to their neighbors and headed for Springfield Speedway.

...

As the sun slowly dipped towards the horizon, the Flanderses began their walk back home, using the same path that had brought them there. On the way, they found a clear, secluded patch of land where they sat for a while, singing camp songs and trying to name the various insects that landed on their clothes. Ned put his arm around his wife's shoulders and pulled her in close. He suddenly felt a sense of calm and contentedness that was rare, even to his routinely cheery disposition. He stared at Maude as she smiled towards the children. She turned and caught Ned's eyes, her own sparking from the sun's last rays. They gazed at each other for a brief moment, and said all that needed to be said through their eye contact. He enjoyed their conversation, and he laughed inwardly. _**I wish we could talk like this more often. I love you, Maude.**_ He silently received her reply.

The calm of the moment was interrupted by the digital strains of " Michael Row Your Boat Ashore ". It was Ned's cell phone. Not recognizing the phone number displayed, he answered the call with a polite, "Ned Flanders. What can I do you for?"

"Mr. Flanders, this is Officer Lou from the downtown station."

_**The police?**_ The fun of the day had pushed the events of the morning to the back of his mind. "My goodness. What's the problem, officer?"

"Calm down, calm down. We wanted to let you know we recovered a car registered in your name. It's here at the station. Turns out some teenage punks took it for a joyride."

_**Ah, yes, the blue station wagon that I unwittingly offered up for public access.**_ "Oh, thank goodness! I knew that car would turn up sooner or later. Boy, me and my absent-mindedness." Ned smiled to himself, reassured that, once again, the day was saved for the Flanders clan. "And _kids_ these days! I'm sure their parents or guardians'll give them a very stern talking to," he added with a nervous laugh.

"Uh, actually…don't calm down too much. Your vehicle was involved in a serious accident. I'm afraid its now part of a criminal investigation."

Ned's relief was suddenly snatched away. "Accident? Crime? What…is everyone alright?"

"Well, let's see. There's the shattered windshield, dented roof, broken side view mirror…"

As Lou continued listing the body damage, Ned heard the voice of Chief Wiggum in the background commenting on the tires. "Oh, and it looks like you could use some air in those front ti-"

"Officer, please!" Ned interjected nervously.

"Sorry. Well, lets just say that the woman they hit wasn't so lucky."

"Woman?" Ned sprang to his feet. "What woman?"

"The kid behind the wheel swerved out of control, and mowed her down right in the Kwik-E-Mart parking lot. She was in bad shape by the time the ambulance arrived." Lou let out a frustrated sigh. "It didn't look good. These boys better hope she pulls through, or the next ride they'll be taking is on Old Sparky. Ain't that right, boys?" The familiar voice of a teenage boy yelled from a distance. It was Jimbo Jones, a young man that Ned attempted to council after he had caught him trying to cherry bomb the Flanders' mailbox. He was joined by two other voices.

"You can't give a kid the chair…can you?" Jimbo sounded close to tears.

"If the state passes Prop 187, we can," Lou answered into the phone.

"Hey, man, don't we get a phone call?" Jimbo's friend Dolph whined.

"Well, I think the _Kwik_-E-Mart has a pay phone," Chief Wiggum snapped back from a distance. "Maybe you should've stopped _there_!"

Ned's heart began to race. "Who was…who _is_ the victim? Ned's sweat-drenched hands struggled to keep hold of the phone. Maude and the boys, having overheard Ned's side of the conversation, gathered closely around him as the phone dropped from his hands. His fingers twitched slightly.

"We've got to get to the hospital!"

...

Springfield County Hospital's emergency room was loud and busy. A strange array of patients littered the halls. Ned nearly knocked over a boy with a pair of plastic scissors shallowly impaled in his forehead that had been wandering aimlessly near the front doors. Ned rushed to the front desk and was pointed towards a patient waiting room down the hall by an apathetic clerk who did not put down her book long enough to make eye contact. Maude, Rod, and Todd followed closely, Maude's arm locked into Ned's. He stopped suddenly.

"Maybe you all should wait here," he cautioned, though he was not sure why.

As he approached the waiting room, the sounds of the emergency room faded away, replaced with an eerie silence. His hand shook with fear as he raised it toward the knob. Ned took a deep breath. He entered the room, but chose not to speak. The group, in turn, did little to acknowledge his presence. Ned's heart sunk as he surveyed the room. In one corner, Selma and Patty held each other, shaking with heavy heaves and sniffles. A few chairs down, Abe say quietly, his head bowed and his eyes lowered, muttering something to himself as his granddaughter Maggie grabbed at his face in frustration. Maggie whimpered slightly as she spotted Ned. She reached out her arms towards him. Ned scooped up the toddler and turned toward the far end of the room, pangs of guilt now slashing at him. Homer sat stiffly, surrounded by his two eldest children. One arm was held tightly around Bart, whose head was down in his lap. Tears stained the front of his shorts. Homer's other arm held Lisa face down into his chest, her sobs muffled by his jacket. As Ned got closer, he saw that Homer was staring blankly at the coffee table in the center of the room, his face pale and damp. He looked as if he were going to vomit, or possibly drop dead. Maggie, distraught and confused by her family's demeanor, began to cry, snapping Homer from his trance. He lifted his head to find Ned standing next to him. Ned was taken aback by the pained and frightened look in his neighbor's eyes.

"Aw, Ned, you're too late," his voice warbled, barely audible. "She's gone."


	2. Chapter 2

"Daddy, are we going to Hell?"

Ned was caught off guard by Todd's pointed question.

"What? Now son, why would you ask something like that?"

"You keep saying that it's your fault Mrs. Simpson died. Does that mean you killed her?"

Ned momentarily considered his son's words.

"Well, no, I didn't…I mean, those kids, they…" Ned struggled to find a way to explain his feelings to his children. "I made a mistake. And it led to those boys making a mistake. It was all one big…_mistake_, one that I feel just terrible about."

Todd continued to straighten his black clip-on tie, seemingly unfazed, even somewhat confused by his father's distress. "Then all you have to do is get forgiveness. You taught us we're supposed to forgive our neighbor, right? Just wait for them to forgive you." Todd smiled at his father. Rod nodded his approval.

_**If only it were that simple. I used to think it was…**_

The days following the incident had been torture for Ned, though he constantly chided himself for thinking he could ever be more upset that the Simpson family. Still, the overwhelming thoughs in his mind were of his own implicit involvement in the car accident. It wasn't fair, he thought, for the Simpsons or for himself.

"This isn't supposed to happen to me," Ned moaned to his wife. "I'm a good guy. I shouldn't be involved in something so…wrong!" Ned was surprised by the undirected rancor in his words as the left his mouth.

"Ned, you can't blame yourself for what happened," Maude continued to encourage him. "Right now, we've got to be their support.

And support they did, literally.

Ned stood to the left side of Homer and Maude to the right as they entered the First Church of Springfield. They placed their arms under his and guided him in slowly as the rest of the family followed in silence. His gaze was straight forward, his eyes still glazed and uneasy. As they approached the front of the church and the closed cherry wood coffin covered with roses, Ned felt Homer's knees buckle, and he began to back pedal.

"I think I left the stove on at the house," he meekly lied.

Ned struggled with Homer momentarily before convincing him to take his seat. The Flanders sat with the Simpsons and Bouviers in the first row.

The church's interior overflowed with residents from Springfield and beyond: friends, relatives, acquaintances, and just about anyone who had come in contact with the family over the years. To the left of the casket stood a collage of dozens of photos that served as a snapshot of a life dedicated to her family.

"So many people," Ned observed aloud.

"It's beautiful," Maude added. "Marge told me that she sometimes wished she were more popular…If only she knew how much everyone really loved her. She'd be so happy."

"Yeah, too bad she has such a crappy view of the crowd," Bart quipped.

Lisa shot him a look of frustration.

"What? It's true. When I die, I want a clear glass coffin with a built in bathroom and mini bar…"

"Oh, Bart." Lisa was in no mood for jokes.

_**Poor boy. He's such a brave little trooper.**_

Reverend Lovejoy presided over the funeral. His opening remarks did nothing to soothe Ned's tortured soul.

"We're here today to celebrate the life of Marjorie Simpson, loving wife, mother, do-gooder, well-wisher, nay-sayer, fundraiser participant and retired police officer. Only God, in all of His infinite wisdom, can explain why she was taken away from us so soon. Because, as we know, there is no possible way that these events could have ever been prevented…No way at all."

Ned squirmed uncomfortably. He felt as if hundreds of eyes were stabbing him with judgment, though no one was actually looking at him.

As the program continued, many people offered remembrances of Marge. Apu was the first to speak.

"It is with great honor, and also deep sadness, that I am here today. I offer condolences to the family and everyone affected by this tragedy. I am also offering the Simpsons a lifetime 20 discount on any regular sized Sqishee. It is the least I can do," he offered, as he bowed toward the family.

"Mrs. Simpson was not only a frequent and loyal customer. She was a kind and beautiful woman. She was always polite and courteous, and willing to open her home to those in need, as I am sure any of us who have stayed in the Simpson home can agree."

Dozens of voices in the crowd responded in agreement.

Later, Nelson remembered, "Staying at the Simpson house was like being in some fancy motel. A pillow filled with cotton instead of old magazines…and food that was cooked on a stove instead of a hot plate left in the sun. For the first time, I learned that not all moms run their house like a crap hole." He then looked for his mother in the crowd.

"No offense, mom."

"Eh," Mrs. Muntz shrugged in apathy.

Artie Ziff, Marge's high school prom date, volunteered a few words.

"Marge was a rare creature, truly too good for this world. Of course, if she were living somewhere else, instead of Springfield, this probably would have never happened. Oh no, the quiet, crime-free neighborhoods of Silicon Valley would have never housed such blatant juvenile delinquency. Had she chosen a different path after high school, say, by marrying me, instead of…"

He glanced at a hunched over Homer.

"Well, she could have lived in the lap of luxury. I can see it now." Artie closed his eyes. "The sunny California palm trees shading me by my pool, as Marge comes out in her swimsuit with an pitcher of ice water. She'd pour a glass for me, and then she'd pour a glass for herself…but, what's this? A little bit of water has spilled onto her top. Then she laughs, and I laugh, and I go over to her and we-"

"_Thank_ you, Mr. Ziff, that's…quite enough," Reverend Lovejoy interrupted, sensing that Artie was getting lost in the moment.

Several more appreciative comments followed. Even Ralph Wiggum contributed. "One time I couldn't find my backpack, and Bart's mom helped me look for it, and she found it. It was right behind me the whole time. I love Lisa's mom."

Ralph's words received a few "aaaw's" of approval.

A woman suddenly burst into the church, yelling and flailing down the center aisle.

"Oh, Harold! Oh, God, no! Why? Take me instead!" She threw herself onto the casket, sobbing.

The room buzzed with confusion.

"Excuse me madam," the reverend interjected during the woman's histrionics. "I think you have the wrong funeral."

The woman's eyes widened and she stopped, mid-sob. "But…you mean this isn't Harold Zitti's service?" She stood up straight and turned toward the congregation, looking embarrassed. A man in the congregation called out to her.

"Laura?"

"Harold?" she answered back, surprised.

From the back of the church, Fat Tony cleared his throat and motioned at the woman. Matter-of-factly, he corrected her.

"Mrs. Zitti, I informed you that the funeral of your husband would be taking place _next_ Tuesday."

All eyes turned to Mrs. Zitti, then to Harold Zitti.

"Oh." Mrs. Zitti stiffened and gave a weak smile to her husband.

Harold fidgeted with his tie before darting out of the room.

Mrs. Zitti chuckled nervously. "I do apologize." She backed away from the casket slowly. "Sorry to hear about your, uh, loved one," she said to the family. With that, she quickly walked out of the church.

"Yes, now that that unexpected interruption has passed," the reverend continued, "we will have a few words from young Bart."

Bart hopped from his seat and walked up to the podium. He stood silently for several seconds. He gulped loudly and seemed to freeze in terror. Eventually, he opened his mouth, but few sounds were able to escape.

"I…uh…"

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"My…mo-" He gasped.

Ned looked on nervously, trying to catch his eye.

_**Come on Bart, you can do it.**_

Bart's eyes darted as he bit his lip. Ned was afraid he'd collapse, when suddenly Bart looked down at his shoes, took a breath, raised his head again, his eyes now focused, and began to recite a familiar soliloquy.

"Dearly beloved...we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life." He took a few steps away from the podium as he continued. "Electric word, 'life.' It means forever, and that's a mighty long time, but I'm here to tell ya there's something else…"

He paused for dramatic affect before continuing.

"The Afterworld."

Ned looked to see that some people began to smile. He brain still rattled searching for the source of Bart's words.

Bart lifted his gaze toward the ceiling and outstretched his arm. "A world of never ending happiness. You can always see the sun, day or night." Bart looked directly at the congregation and pointed towards them. "So when you call up that shrink in Beverly Hills, you know the one, Dr. Everything'll-Be-Alright. Instead of asking him how much of your time is left, ask him how much of your mind, baby! Cause in this life, things are much harder than in the afterworld. In this life…you're on your own!"

By this time, several people had begun rocking and clapping to Bart's words. The title still eluded Ned, though he conceded that he had heard them in a song once.

"…And if de-elevator tries to break you down, go crazy, punch a higher floor!" Bart pumped his fist into the air at the conclusion of his speech.

Light applause rose from the congregation. Bart took a couple of mock bows, and smiled toward his family.

Otto, sitting directly behind Ned, continued humming and fingering chords on his air guitar. "Aw man, you can't stop now!"

Reverend Lovejoy returned to the podium. "Thank you, Bart. Well, if no one else has anything to share…" He looked at the family. Homer shook his head slightly and looked away from the reverend.

"We will now have a musical selection from Lisa Simpson."

Bart stayed at the podium while Lisa made her way from her seat and up the stairs with her saxophone. He grabbed her hand for a moment and nodded to her before walking back to his seat, still grinning from the positive reception to his performance. Lisa blinked back tears before acknowledging her audience.

"My mother was the only person in my family that ever really encouraged my musical talent. Over the past few days, I've composed several songs about her. I planned to do a song titled 'Eternal Happiness.' But instead, I'd like to play something I wrote on the way here. It's called 'Cruel Fate.'"

As the somber tune from the tenor saxophone filled the church, Ned bowed his head and let his thoughts and his imagination swirl around in his mind. Despite all his efforts at unselfishness, he could not help but think of himself.

_**Why me, Lord?**_

Ned was unsure of himself, and for the first time, he doubted everything about his long held philosophies on life. Usually, when disasters happened, he could sit back, unattached, and analyze the "how's and "why's" of the situation. Ned was always able to find a reasonable explanation that would satisfy his internal questions. A silver lining to even the darkest of storm clouds. He was also willing and ready to accept the hurdles life put in front of him, no matter their size. He thought back to the time his home was destroyed by a hurricane. How frustrated he was at his neighbors for the shoddy work they had done, even though they were only trying to help him rebuild. It had forced him to a breaking point, and that lead to a bit of self-examination. In the end, he was grateful for all that had happened, and for the role that Springfield had played in his self-healing. But now, it was he who was at the center of the "how" and he had no idea what he should do next.

When he opened his eyes, Ned jumped at the sight of three teenage boys standing before him.

Dolph, Kearney and Jimbo had entered the chapel and silently made their way to the front row. Ned quickly surveyed the church. Officers Eddie and Lou waited by the entrance, chaperoning the visit in an attempt to ensure a peaceful attendance.

Before Ned could say anything, Bart caught sight of the trio. His eyes filled with rage, and he scowled.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he shouted.

The saxophone solo halted. The church fell silent.

"Dude, we are like, _really_ sorry," Dolph offered cautiously.

"Yeah," echoed Kearney, his eyes sincere. "If I could go back in time, I would definitely reconsider stealing that ride…for more than an hour."

"Yeah, man, we just got greedy," Jimbo added, holding his knit cap in his hands. "We didn't mean to hit your old lady."

The entire family, along with the Flanderses, had turned their attention to the boys, except for Homer who continued to sit with his head in his hands.

"Sorry?!" Bart was now standing, his fists clinched by his sides. "You killed my mom! You ruined our family!"

Reverend Lovejoy unsuccessfully attempted to regain control of the proceedings. "Now, now, people. This is hardly the time or place for loud, emotional outbursts."

"It's my fault," Jimbo confessed. "I shouldn't have dared Kearny to drive with his eyes closed. And I definitely shouldn't have put my hands over his eyes!"

"And I shouldn't have egged him on!," Dolph whimpered.

"And me, well I'm too old to have been swayed by such obvious attempts at peer pressure!" Kearney sniveled.

With that, Bart leaped at Kearney and tackled him to the ground. He punched at his large frame as Jimbo attempted to pull Bart away. Bart kicked at Jimbo, sending him tumbling backwards into the photo collage that stood next to the casket.

Nelson ran to the front doors of the church, shouting.

"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Every pedestrian within earshot rushed to the scene.

A group of school-aged children ran to the scuffle, surrounding Bart and the other boys. It took less than one minute for the church pews to empty. Potted plants flew. For no apparent reason, some in the congregation began fighting amongst themselves. The funeral had degenerated into an all out riot. Lisa ran from the podium, where she had been standing watching the travesty unfold. Ned scrambled to direct the children out of the way of flying projectiles. Selma grabbed Maggie, who was shadowing her brother, punching at the air.

Lou and Eddie ran over to try to break up the brawl. Suddenly, Bart lunged toward Eddie and pulled the pistol from his holster.

Shots rang out, bullets shattering a stained glass window. The congregation rushed through the exits, screaming, clearing out the church. When the dust had finally settled, Kearny had been grazed in the lower arm. Jimbo was hit in the knee. Dolph had avoided injury by hiding under the church organ. Eddie grabbed Bart from behind and handcuffed him.

"Sorry, kid. The city's amendment for vigilante justice was repealed last year."

Ned stood anxiously at the church's front doors as Bart was lead out. He reached out his hand to touch Bart's shoulder, but the grief stricken boy shrugged it away. Ned looked out at the streets, where the emotion of the funeral brawl had transferred into isolated looting around the church. He feared that the town was crumbling before his eyes.

Homer sat alone on the front pew, oblivious to the action around him.

...

Time continued to speed ahead unmercifully. In what seemed like moments, several weeks had passed. Bart had been sentenced to 12 months in a juvenile detention center. Another disaster almost came to pass when he was inexplicably bunked with Dolph. The error was quickly corrected.

Ned never purchased another car. He didn't feel that he deserved it. Every morning, he'd get up early and take the bus to the mall, subconsciously hoping that he wouldn't encounter Homer. Ned had offered his help several times following the funeral. 'If you need _any_thing,' he would stress, 'I'm at your service.'" Homer always responded with a flat "Okay." Other than that, he had not said a word to the Flanders family, or anyone else that Ned could tell. He wasn't sure if Homer held any resentment toward him, and it was unlike Homer not to let his feelings about his neighbor be known. Ned longed to hear Homer curse at the beehive in his backyard, or sing loudly and off key to the theme song of whatever rerun happened to be on television. Instead, the house next door remained silent.

One day, Ned spotted Lisa in the mall during his lunch break. He decided to approach her.

"Well! I didn't know there was a school holiday today. What is it, Flag Day? Arbor Day? Take your pets to work day?"

"Oh, uh, no." Lisa looked away quickly.

"Well, what are you doing here so early?"

Lisa inhaled. "I…cut school."

Ned gasped.

"I know. This quarter has been horrible. I haven't been able to concentrate. I'm too sad. My GPA's dropped to a 3.4, but to be honest, I don't even care."

Ned put his arm around the sulking 8-year-old. He felt her shoulders tense up, so he quickly removed his arm.

"Aw, Lisa, I know this has been a difficult time, for all of us, but I know your mom would want you to continue to do well in school. Say, Rod said the big music recital is coming up. We can't wait to see what you all have planned for-"

"I quit the band."

Ned gasped again. "But…you're so talented! And you love music."

"Some people say that turmoil helps to fuel the creative spirit. That hasn't been the case for me. I just…" Lisa began to weep. Ned felt his own eyes begin to sting.

"Don't worry, Lisa, I know that this will all make sense one day. Until then, don't give up hope, OK?"

She sniffled. "I'll try. But I can't make any promises."

Ned stood to return to the Leftorium when Lisa called to him.

"Mr. Flanders? Do you know where I can find a good farmer's market? Aunt Patty and aunt Selma are having corn beef casserole tonight, and their idea of a vegetarian entrée is a pile of refried beans."

Ned directed her to the farmer's market and headed back to work.

...

Visiting hours ended in less than 30 minutes, but Ned was compelled to see Bart.

Upon hearing that someone had come to see him, Ned heard Bart running toward the visiting room. When he spotted Ned, his smile faded into an indifferent expression.

"Oh. Hello, Mr. Flanders."

"Hello Bart."

"I...thought someone else was here."

"Your father?" Ned suggested cautiously.

Bart didn't respond directly. He picked at the dried wood splintering on the arm of his chair. He kept his glance at the chair as he spoke to Ned. "So…How's life outside the walls?"

"Good. Good, good." Ned cleared his throat in an attempt to cut the silent tension in the room.

"Son, I'm so sorry that this has happened."

"I guess it's not your fault. I just went crazy that day. But those jerks deserved it." Bart looked down and his legs swung back and forth as they dangled from the chair.

"Bart, I know you have a lot of angry feelings in your heart right now, and I don't know what to say to make things better, but I believe they will get better." Ned smiled kindly.

"Yeah. Well, justice will be done, if by the grace of Allah"

"Don't tell me you've converted to Islam!" The words spilled from Ned's mouth before he could temper them.

"Maybe. There's a group in my hall. I heard it's best to join some kind of clique when you're locked up. It's either them or the Junior Aryans. I haven't decided yet."

"Oh."

A bell rang as the clock struck 7pm.

"Well, I guess I have to go. Thanks for stopping by." Bart got up from his chair and was lead away by a counselor.

"Bye, Bart. I- I'll tell your father that you're looking for him."

Ned waved as Bart left the room, wondering if he actually would speak to Homer again.

Unexpectedly, Homer did contact Ned only two days later. When he finally did speak, it was to take Ned up on his offer of help. He showed up at the Flanders's door one Sunday morning with Maggie in his arms.

"I never though I'd say this," Homer began hesitantly, "but I think she'd be better off with you." Homer lowered his eyes as he held out his daughter to Maude. "You know, just until I get myself together. Gimme, I don't know, a week or two."

Maggie cried as Maude took her into her arms. She cried for three days straight, before accepting the Flanderses as her foster parents once again.

Day after day, Homer would leave in the morning and return in the evening without saying a word or making eye contact with anyone who happened to see him.

One day, Ned watched through his living room window as Homer pulled in to his driveway. He got out, closed the door, and stood for several minutes. He seemed to be looking toward the end of the block, toward something in the distance.

**_Who is he looking for? Is someone coming?_**

Nothing and no one came. Homer slowly ran his hand over the hood of his car. He briefly turned to the other side of the block before returning to his forward gaze.

_**Maybe it's Lisa**_, Ned hoped.

There was no sign of Lisa.

_**Bart?**_

No Bart.

_**Or, maybe he's…still waiting for Marge to pull up behind him in her station wagon**_. Ned saddened at the thought.

After a while, Homer sighed, fiddled with his keys and headed inside.

Over the next week, the pink Sedan did not leave its spot.

Worrisome scenarios had begun to play out in Ned's mind. He feared that Homer had done something drastic, or possibly fallen ill. One evening, Ned's thoughts were interrupted by a tug at his shirt. It was Maggie.

"What is it, little lady? Wanna watch another 'Fruity Tales' DVD?"

Maggie pointed toward the window that faced her house. Ned looked and sighed.

"Oh, I know you want to go home, but your dad…he's not feeling too good. You can go back when he's better."

Maggie ignored Ned's soothing voice and continued to point to her house. She looked at Ned, her eyes pleading with him.

"All right, Maggie, I'll go check on him."


	3. Chapter 3

Ned gave a shave-and-a-haircut knock on the door, and waited nervously. He sighed with relief as he heard footsteps approach the door.

As the door slowly creaked open, it separated from its top hinges, leaning into the right of the doorway and partly blocking the entrance. Both men looked at the door silently as it continued to move in the wind. Ned then looked at Homer whose open robe revealed a pair of boxers and a food stained t-shirt underneath.

Homer had gone through a drastic physical transformation. Because they rarely interacted with each other by that point, the changes were not as apparent to Ned until he finally saw Homer up close. Never the picture of perfect health, Homer now looked haggard and sickly. The gleam he one had in his eyes, the one that lit up his face, even while yelling at Ned or 'borrowing' something from the Flanders' yard, was long gone. His eyes were bloodshot and framed by dark circles. His sparse hair was long and limp and he sported a scruffy beard speckled with gray. He appeared to have lost 30 to 40 pounds, which Ned thought would have been a good thing, had it been the result of a healthy diet. But Ned knew that in the months following Marge's death, Homer had stopped eating meals on a regular basis, opting for liquid sustenance of the fermented kind.

As Ned continued to take in the alarming site of his neighbor, he internally prepared his 'Everything Will be Fine and Dandy' speech, the one he had memorized over the years, and loved to pull out whenever he ran into any of the bitter Betties and doubtful Dan's of the world. It was like a sales pitch to him, and deal closer. He never admitted it out loud, but it made him feel superior, as if he were the only one who could deliver such a nugget of advice. Every time he did, he could picture the Big Man Upstairs giving him the A-OK sign. Still, in the back of his mind, Ned also hoped that he could finally convince himself that he wasn't responsible for the accident.

"Um…" Homer motioned for Ned to enter.

Ned stepped by the broken door and into the darkened hallway of the once bright pink interior. The light had blown out, but Ned could see that the paint was peeling from the walls. The air smelled stale, a combination of alcohol, mildew, and dust.

The two walked silently through the living room, which was covered with beer bottles. Ned kicked his way through the bottles, picking up a few as he moved through the room.

"Homer, I don't want to be a Nosy Nellie, but don't you think all this beer could be just a little…unhealthy?"

"Nonsense, Flanders. I've been drinking for twenty years. I know what I'm doing." Homer pulled an open bottle from the pocket of his robe and took a swig. "Ya know, I once heard about a college kid who keeled over from alcohol poisoning after 2 hours of binge drinking." Homer looked around the room. "I think that's just an urban legend."

The two headed to the kitchen, which was also unkempt. Ned flicked on the light and sat himself at the table. Homer opened the refrigerator and looked around.

"Sorry, I don't have too much to eat. Let's see…a half a package of ramen noodles…baking soda…" He pulled out a Tupperware container filled with a grayish liquid and held it towards Ned.

"Something that used to be string beans."

Ned recoiled. Homer shrugged, put the container back, grabbed two bottles from a cabinet and sat down with Ned.

"You want a beer?"

"No thanks."

"Fine." Homer pulled the second bottle close to him, and opened both. "More for me."

_**No sir, you're not dying on my watch.**_

"On second thought, I will take one." _**That's one less beer closer to liver failure**_.

Homer slowly pushed the beer back across the table with his index finger, keeping his eyes on Ned.

"So, how's my little girl? You're not making her say 'ding-dang-doodily' are you?"

"Oh, no, she's not saying much of anything yet," Ned chuckled. "But she sure does miss you. So does Lisa. And Bart."

Homer paused mid sip and put down his bottle. He looked at the table.

"I'm a failure, Flanders," he spoke facing the table top. "Here I should be trying to raise them, as the only parent they have, and look at me. I'm just a mess."

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself. I know it's difficult when a loved one passes."

"She was more than a 'loved one,'" Homer quickly interrupted. "She's the reason I'm alive. She gave me everything I always wanted; love, affection, a happy family. And now it's all gone."

Ned remained quiet, unsure of how to respond.

"It's my worst nightmare come true." Homer looked up at Ned as if he would solve all of his problems. "Why did this have to happen?"

Ned felt himself beginning to sweat. _**What do I say? It happened because I'm a forgetful idiot?**_

"Well, Homer..." He searched his mind for an answer. "I guess the Creator has a bigger plan that we can't see. One that, on the surface, doesn't make a lot of, uh, sense." He flashed a small, sincere smile at Homer.

"Yeah, well it's a pretty terrible plan. What, did 'the Creator' think this would be funny? 'Oh, I'm so _bored_ today on my stupid_ cloud'_," Homer spat with palpable sarcasm and disdain. "'I know. I'll screw over Homer Simpson! That'll be a _riot_'."

Ned tried to sway Homer's thought process. "Well, I don't think anyone's…picking on you. It's just-"

"Had it been you, _that_ might've been funny," Homer continued nonchalantly.

Ned scoffed. "Now wait a minute! Are you saying that I should be the one grieving?"

"No. That's not what I meant…" Homer gave Ned a silent look of apology.

The two sat quietly drinking their beers. When Ned had finished his, he attempted to restart the conversation.

"I guess it's just a part of life. We all have joys, pains, suffering."

Homer bristled at Ned's comments.

"Oh, what the hell do you know about suffering? Your life is perfect! You own your own business. Your kids are both happy and law abiding. Your wife is…_alive_ and well…" His lip quivered and his voice began to crack. "And as hot as ever."

Ned scooted his chair closer to the table as Homer wiped at his eyes, beer still in hand.

"This may come as a shock, but" Homer leaned in towards Ned, his voice in a hoarse but hushed tone, "I've always been a little jealous of you."

"Oh?" Ned tried his best to feign surprise.

"Yeah. You're always so happy about everything. How do you do it?"

"Well, I guess I live by the motto, 'When life gives you lemons, make lemonade'."

"Mmm, lemonade," Homer blandly replied, his facial expression unchanging. He momentarily contemplated the sweet beverage before coming back to the situation at hand. "That's easy for you to say. Face it. You have lots to live for. My only reason for living is…"

He let out a whimper before downing the rest of his current bottle, and immediately opened another.

"It wasn't supposed to end this way!" he cried, lightly hitting the table with the bottom of his current Duff. "I was supposed to die first. Probably while eating some kind of delicious sandwich. After I died, I'd stick around to watch over the family. Spook them out late at night. Maybe try to scare Patty and Selma into a heart attack. Then one day, Marge would die of old age and we'd be together again. And then we'd turn our home into a total badass haunted house with the help of a crude natured ghost. You know, like in 'Beetle Juice'?"

Hearing Homer speak extensively again, after months of virtual muteness both saddened and relieved Ned, who was strangely entertained by Homer's meandering thoughts. He had hoped that in Homer's words he could find some personal solace, but every word only made Ned more frustrated with the situation.

Homer took five gulps from his bottle and continued. "I guess I never thought about what it would be like if she died before me. I didn't want to think about it. I never wanted anything bad to happen to my family, if I could help it. My life, on the other hand...well, my life's been on the line plenty of times. Like the time I electrocuted myself and fell off my roof while I was putting up the Christmas lights. Or the time I nearly hung myself from the intercity bridge when I was trying to bungee jump with a bunch of old jump ropes tied together. Or when I…well, you get the point."

His eyes lit up as he found a particular memory.

"One time we went to this Japanese place for dinner, and I ate some poison blowfish…"

A small smile crept into the corner of his mouth.

"Hehe, I can't even eat without screwing something up. Doctor Hibbert told me I had one day left to live. So I made this list of all the things I wanted to do with my last day on Earth. I couldn't finish everything, but I did do the last thing, the most important thing on my list, which was to be with Marge." He looked at Ned.

"You know. _Intimately._" he clarified.

"Right," Ned responded, holding on to Homer's every word as he slowly made his way through his anecdote.

"But it wasn't just sex. That night…it was like we were the only two people in the world. I knew right then that no one could ever love anyone as much as I loved her, and I'd never let anything separate us." The smile spread to the other side of his mouth, though his eyes were filled with water ready to fall.

Ned recalled Homer telling him of his blowfish misadventures in a passing conversation once. He had even laughed about it. This night, however, the story took on a solemn tone.

"So, anyway, it turns out that I didn't die."

Ned nodded.

"And I was happy, but…some days, when life got really tough, I'd think back to that night, and I'd think…maybe dying like that, as close to each other as we could be, would have been alright."

Homer closed his eyes, allowing the tears to roll down his face. A few moments passed before he continued with his thoughts. "Well, maybe not for her. She'd probably be traumatized."

Ned's heart grew heavy again, and in his mind he heard a nagging voice taunting him for his involvement in the tragedy, and the apparent uselessness of Marge's death. Ned looked at Homer as his own vision became blurred with tears.

"Oh, I can't take this anymore," Ned sobbed, removing his glasses. "I've been racked with guilt for months! I'm so sorry…" Ned moved from his seat, pulled at Homer's robe and cried into his t-shirt while Homer looked at him, puzzled.

"How could you have known those dumb kids would break into your car?"

It never occurred to Ned that Homer didn't know that he had left his car ripe for the picking. He gulped.

"I was the one who left the car unlocked that morning. The keys were right there in the ignition. It was an accident; I- I was so wrapped up in my work I just forgot! Please forgive me."

The room fell silent. Ned panicked.

"Or don't." Ned stood up. "Yell at me. Punch me in the face. Strangle me! Just do something!"

Ned flinched and braced himself for an attack. When it didn't come, he sat back in his chair and waited impatiently for Homer to respond. Homer simply stared at Ned, looking even more like a wounded animal. Then he shook his head and finished off his Duff.

"Figures," he sneered, glancing at the floor. "You know, I always had the feeling that God didn't like me. That he was always teasing me like the proverbial fat kid in the junior high of life. And now I know its true." Homer hiccuped then gave Ned a cold stare. "Using his favorite choirboy to help him with his dirty tricks. He's probably laughing at me right now, that evil bastard."

Ned winced.

Homer looked up toward the ceiling at nothing in particular, and raised a clenched fist. "I thought we had a deal! I don't bother you, you don't bother me!" Then he paused, his eyes suddenly filled with sad understanding. His shoulders slumped.

"Maybe I deserve this. After all, you're Mr. Goody-two-shoes, and I've always been kind of a jerk…"

"That's not true!"

"No, it's true. I'm a jerk-"

"Well maybe sometimes," Ned confessed. "But just because something bad happens to you doesn't mean you…deserved it."

Ned suddenly had a small epiphany. His ideas about smooth sailing for good people and punishment for the wicked made less and less sense in his mind. He realized that he knew nothing about the unpredictability of fate, and it frightened him. He clutched at his sweater as his throat tightened.

"And what about your children?" he continued. "They're going to need a strong parent there to guide them through the hard times."

Homer looked at Ned as if he had just delivered the punch line to an odd joke that he didn't understand. "My kids would be way better off without me. They're smart and they still have bright futures. Well, the girls do. Anyway, I'd just weigh them down."

Ned began to worry. "Don't you see? You've got to be brave for them."

"I've tried being brave since the day they were born," Homer responded, with a downward gaze. " Hell, since_ I _was born. Time after time, life kicked me in the crotch, but I always tried to look on the bright side. Drink some lemonade, like you said. But I can't do it anymore. What's the use? Things'll never work out they way I hoped. I'm a loser. The world's fulla losers."

Homer's speech had begun to slur as his meal of alcohol worked its way through his system. Ned continued to listen intently, though he recognized his friend's shifting state.

"They don't need this one anymore," Homer conceded, motioning toward himself and sloshing his beer in the process. His eyes closed again. "I'm sure they'll understand."

Ned widened his eyes in disbelief. "Homer, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying…" He sighed another deep sigh. "I'm just…tired." Homer quickly pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, startling Ned.

"Look, thanks for stopping by and helping me figure out how much life sucks, but I think I'm gonna turn in early."

Ned looked at the wall clock. "But it's not even 6 yet, and-" Ned turned to see Homer had already left the kitchen and was lying on the couch. Now alone, he took the opportunity to survey the kitchen for any sharp and potentially dangerous objects. He then made his way through the sea of bottles back to the front door. He turned and looked at Homer.

"If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm right next door." He gave another warm smile, though his heart ached.

"Okay," Homer responded flatly, sliding into a stupor of emotional fatigue and increasing inebriation. He stared towards the turned off television set. "Goodbye, Ned."

"Good_night_, Homer." Ned looked at Homer for a few more seconds before backing quietly out the front door. He gently lifted the door up off the bottom hinge in order to close it.

The sky was now pitch black. The wind howled violently around him as he headed back to his house. A growing sense of dread filled his body, as if he knew more disaster was to come.

_**Why is this happening? What does it all mean? There's only one man who can help me now...**_

...

Ned tapped his fingers against his coffee table as he waited for Reverend Lovejoy to pick up the phone. He had called several times in two hours, but no one answered. Suddenly Ned heard the click of the receiver.

"Yes, Ned." The voice drably responded.

"Ah, you've got caller ID now, Reverend?"

"Who else would be calling me on my office phone after 8pm on a weeknight?"

_**I assumed a man of the cloth never sleeps.**_ "Well, Reverend, I've been thinking about the accident..."

"Ned, _please_, not tonight," the reverend groaned. "We've been over this a thousand times. You're not evil. You were never possessed by the Devil. Satan is not your '_home_-boy.' Et cetera, et cetera."

"I know, Reverend. I think I've finally accepted that. But now I have a bigger problem. I've realized that, well, I don't know everything."

"My, what a breakthrough."

Ned ignored the reverend's apathetic tone. "What I mean is, I can't find an answer for everything that happens, not even in the Bible." He quickly reevaluated his words silently, afraid of what they could mean.

"We're good, righteous, religious people," he continued. "We love whom we're supposed to love, condemn who we're supposed to condemn. We've done everything right, and the Simpsons…" He stopped mid-thought. "No! A decent man and his children are devastated, and for what? It can't be a punishment…can it? I mean, surely a god of love and kindness wouldn't do something like that to one of his children, right?"

Reverend Lovejoy did not immediately respond.

"Hello? Reverend, are you there?"

"Um, Ned, this isn't really my area of expertise. I'm more of a cut-and-dry facilitator, here to hand out easy, uncomplicated answers. What you're asking is beyond most men's comprehension. Even holy men."

Ned's face fell. "Then what do I do?"

"I suggest you…er, read one some Psalms."

"Which one?"

"Oh, I don't know, there are hundreds of them. Close your eyes and pick one. You can't go wrong"

"Well, all right. Thank you, Reverend." Ned hung up the phone, and reached for the nearest Bible. He turned to the Book of Psalms, closed his eyes, and ran his finger down a page. He slowly opened one eye to see what he had found. He read the passage partially covered by his index finger.

'_**God, don't be far from me. My God, hurry to help me.'**_ Ned sighed. _**Well, yes, that's the question, but what's the answer?**_ He closed his eyes and searched again. He opened his eyes and looked at the words under his finger.

'_**God will likewise destroy you forever.'**_

Frustrated, he closed the book and headed upstairs.

Ned sat down on his bed where Maude had been reading. She looked up from her book and smiled lovingly.

"I heard you talking to Reverend Lovejoy. I think you're right." She then turned back to her book.

"Thank you, Maude. That means a lot." Ned leaned his lead into Maude's as he stroked her hair.

"But what about us?" he pondered aloud.

The question loomed around them.

"What if one day…some storm cloud were to rain on the Flanders family?"

"You're a strong man, Neddy. I know that whatever comes our way, we'll manage, just like we've done for all these years." Maude placed both her hands on either side of her husband's face, and they looked into each other's eyes, just as they had done that fateful day in the park. She kissed him, and they both laid their heads down to sleep. He wrestled with altering thoughts of peace and dread, until he finally dozed off.

Ned was jolted from his sleep by a loud bang. His heart raced as he leapt from his bed and headed downstairs to his front door, moving so fast, and so suddenly, he felt as if the walls were spinning around him. He ran outside barefoot, shouting Homer's name as he headed to his house.

"Homer, please say you didn't do it!"

"Yeah, I did it, alright," a voice answered from the darkness.

Ned froze in his tracks as he found Homer outside. He was bent over, picking up an object.

"Lousy, no good infomercial…" Homer stood over a metal garbage can with a large container in his hands. "'Miracle fat-burner' my ass!" He then threw the container down into the can in disgust, producing another large banging sound. A man from a few houses away shouted from his window.

"You idiot! It's 3 in the morning!"

"Go to hell," Homer shouted back. " I pay my taxes!" He spotted Ned standing a few feet away. "Hey, Flanders. You're up late."

Ned was dumbstruck. Poor, sickly Homer seemed to have made a full recovery. His round face and rounder belly were apparent, even in the darkened night. "What's going on out here? Are you okay?"

Homer grumbled. "I'd be better if I'd never bought this stupid, rip off, Nofatrin. The guy on TV said he took it and lost 30 pounds in a month. I've had this stuff for two days, and I _gained_ 10 pounds!" Homer picked up another container and slammed it into the can.

"Homer! Do you have to do that now?" called a familiar voice from a distance.

Ned watched in amazement as a woman with tall hair walked from the Simpson house in her bathrobe. He rubbed his eyes.

"Marge?"

Marge looked at Ned, slightly embarrassed. "Hi, Ned. I hope we didn't wake you." She turned to her husband. "Come on, you can throw the rest of these containers away tomorrow. You'll wake up the whole town with this racket."

"I'm sorry Marge," Homer responded sheepishly. "I just couldn't stand to look at this stuff for another minute." Homer looked down at the large bag full of 2-gallon containers of Nofatrin that he had dragged from his house. "Twenty-five jars. Oh! Marge, why don't you ever stop me from my impulse buying?" he whined.

Marge sighed and took Homer's arm.

As they began to make their way back inside, Homer stopped and turned to look at Ned.

"Funny I should see you tonight. I had a dream about you, but I can't remember what it was about."

_**A dream.**_

Ned, now fully awake, Ned slowly realized that all that had happened over several months was but a figment of his imagination.

_**Or was it a sign,**_ he wondered. _**Could Homer and I have received some type of divine inspiration tonight?**_

"Oh, _now_ I remember," Homer concluded. My barbecue grill exploded and went right through your kitchen window. Then your whole house blew up. You should'a seen the look on your face!" Homer let out a hearty laugh as more annoyed neighbors began to yell.

"Shut up!" he bellowed into the night.

Marge pulled Homer by the arm and led him quickly into the house. Ned could hear them talking as he headed back to his own home.

"Three hundred bucks down the drain on a diet pill scam. It's just not fair."

"I know, Homey."

...

Ned quietly closed his front door and walked slowly up the stairs to his bedroom, trying to put off the reality that he knew awaited. He cracked the door to his sons' room and lovingly watched them as they slept. After a while, he went back into his own room, lit only by pale moonlight. The light reflected onto his empty bed. He was stung momentarily. Ned fluffed the pillows and looked at them. He sat for a time, reflecting on all that had happened, before lying back down. Before he fell asleep, he looked skyward, with clasped hands, beyond the bedroom's walls.

"Well, it wasn't the answer I was looking for, but I'll take it."

...

...

...

credits

A Reversal of Fortune

First published under pen name "Mindy Simmons" on 4/11/08

The story contains lyrics from the song "Let's Go Crazy" by Prince (Copyright 1984, published by Warner Bros. Records)

"The Simpsons" and all related characters are registered trademarks and are owned by 20th Century Fox.

This is an original story that references the Simpsons episodes "Alone Again, Natura-Diddly" and "One Fish, Two Fish, Blow Fish Blue Fish." There are also allusions to the episodes "Hurricane Neddy," "The Springfield Connection," and "Home Sweet Homediddly-Dum-Doodily." "Alone Again..." is the only one that is important to the narrative, though a plot point from "Blowfish" is recounted toward the end. Only one line of dialog is lifted from a _Simpsons_ episode: "Alone Again..." ("Not so much for the speed, but for all that great safety gear!" ) All other dialogue, though inspired by the series, is the creation of the author.

Copyright 2008-09, JP aka Mindy Simmons


End file.
